


Spirits of Sand and Water

by LostWithoutYouHere



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Harems, Horror, Hydrated Ganondorf, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Political Alliances, Polyamory, Prophetic Visions, Swords & Sorcery, Tragic Romance, War, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostWithoutYouHere/pseuds/LostWithoutYouHere
Summary: In a time of civil war and unstable alliances, a young man known as Ganondorf prepares to ascend the Desert Throne. Trained in the art of war and lovemaking by mighty Gerudo women, he has become a formidable presence on the battlefield and in the bedroom. While his destiny as the next Gerudo King appears to be secure, Ganondorf soon finds himself haunted by echoes of the past. Witches and visions torment him during his sleepless nights, filling his mind with evil ambition and monstrous desire. His only hope of salvation rests with an acolyte named Kyra, a talented prophetess who has been charged with reading the young king’s future... and whose love for Ganondorf threatens to unravel all of their destinies.Note: The author wishes to acknowledge Rozen and Julie Elven's gorgeous song, "Gerudo Legend," which served as inspiration for this story.
Relationships: Ganondorf/Gerudo Warriors, Ganondorf/Kyra, Nabooru/Teake
Kudos: 1





	Spirits of Sand and Water

Storm clouds billowed over Kakariko Village, unleashing a deluge of rain into the streets, the alleyways, into every dark corner of a town that teetered on the edge of death. A furious shadow of a man moved through the streets, his long, black cloak barely concealing his imposing stature. With every step along the path, his armored boots clamored against the cobblestones or dashed water from the growing puddles beneath him as he focused on the road ahead.

Villagers turned away when they saw the man coming, their scurrying feet followed by the slamming of doors as they retreated into their shops and homes. They knew when death was approaching. They lived alongside it each and every day, tolerant of their unwanted neighbor. They knew it was wiser to avoid the shadows, allowing death to pass them by.

The shadow man spared little thought for these villagers. They were vermin who simply existed in his world, once-spoiled children who wept and cowered now that they had grown up and discovered how harsh life could be. His earliest memories were filled with harsh reality, tempered now and then with a sweet, passionate moment.

Those moments were gone now, dried into the walls of his memory, empty as the village well he happened across as he walked down the back alleys of Kakariko.

He paused beside the well, feeling a strange power from deep within. It was tempting to explore the source of this magic, which carried a signature of the dark arts that he knew so well. He could sense the warning signs of a curse, ancient and festering, but there was something else. A curious flicker of sorcery was keeping the well empty, even as the storm poured its fury onto the earth. The power tempted him, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

The man moved past the cursed well, raising his right arm as he approached a wooden fence. He waved his fingers through the air, twisting them at odd angles as he muttered an incantation under his breath. A swirling vortex of black and purple smoke devoured the fence. As he walked through the ring of smoke and stood outside the potion shop, the shadow man cracked the joints in his fingers. Without glancing behind, he released his hold on the magic. The fence returned to this reality, solid and whole, every post and iron bolt regurgitated from the void beyond.

Brass hinges grated against the wooden frame as he opened the shop door. The smell of dying trees and rotting mushrooms filled his nostrils. Inside, the shop was poorly lit and heavy with the stench. Colored smoke rose from the cauldrons along the wall. There were potions brewed with the promise of green enchantment and blue rejuvenation. Strings of crystals and metal cages hung over his head. Inside one of the cages, a sickly pink fairy was holding out its hand, its lower lip trembling pitifully. The creature’s naked body shivered against the iron bars, ribs clearly visible under malnourished skin, and eternal tears slid down its cheeks.

“Please...” The fairy’s small voice had a rasping, unhealthy quality to it. “Please, good sir. Set me free...”

From the back of the shop, an ugly voice croaked behind a red curtain. “Silence, gnat! Bother one of my customers again, and you’ll find yourself swimming in a vat with all the other ingredients!”

The croaking voice drove the tiny creature away from the bars. As the man passed under the cage, he could hear wet, choking noises coming from within. It was odd how the fairy almost sounded like an actual person, sobbing in despair.

Life was harsh, and he had no sympathy for the weak.

He strode up to the shop counter, purposefully letting his boots thud against the floor. There was a rustle of movement from behind the red curtain, accompanied by the sound of cracking bones and ancient curses. A thin hand made solely of bones and chalky flesh pulled aside the curtain, revealing a crooked old woman with a miniature tiger cradled in her arms.

“Yes?” she said, her lower jaw jutting forward as she spoke. “What do you want?”

The shadow man scowled as he looked upon her ugliness, knowing full well that the woman had been twisted by darker forces than time itself. “I require a reading,” he said.

The crooked woman muttered under her breath, gently placing the small tiger on the counter and scratching it behind the ears. Her black, soulless eyes stared past the man. “No fortunes here. Potions and herbs only. Didn’t you read the sign?”

“Money is not an issue.” He unclipped a leather pouch from his belt, letting the full weight of rupees hit the counter with a thump. A slit in the pouch revealed a shimmer of gold and purple. The sight caused the old woman to lick her dry, cracked lips. Even the tiger was curious, sniffing at the leather skin of some long dead animal.

A rough, cackling sound emerged from the woman’s throat. “And what makes you think I can read your fortune, sir?”

He could tell that the woman was baiting him. She could sense his power just as he could sense the evil heart within her from across this counter. He lowered the hood of his cloak.

“My lord Ganondorf,” said the woman, bending her back ever so slightly. It was unclear if the gesture was a sign of respect or simply a product of her warped nature. “You honor us with your presence.”

“Are you not afraid? Your neighbors clearly wanted nothing to do with me.”

“They are merely the rabble, my lordship. They are not acquainted with the dark arts. Not like us.”

Ganondorf grimaced at the thought of sharing any similarities with this twisted crone, but he did not argue with her. He merely unlaced the pouch, allowing a few gold rupees to spill out. “Believe me, witch, I would not be here, walking amongst the rabble and wasting my time with idle chatter, if you did not possess such… talents.”

Those black eyes that seemed so devoid of life were now alive, burning with blasphemous magic and mischief. The old witch cracked a smile on her broken face. “Of course you would know. We cannot hide our true nature from a warlock. After all, you were trained by our fellow sisters, were you not?”

Shuffling her feet across the floor, the witch reached her hand under the counter. There was the clicking sound of a steel bolt being unlocked, and soon a section of wood paneling moved out into the shop, granting entry beyond this façade. “Come with us,” said the witch, her back to Ganondorf as she moved past the red curtain.

The smell of decay from the shop soon transitioned to reeking death as he walked beyond the curtain. Dried herbs and dusty bones dangled from the rafters, a strand of bird claws brushing against his face. Black stones were scattered around the room, the trapped souls within giving off an eerie aquamarine light. He followed the dark silhouette of the witch as she led him to a stone basin, filled with glowing crystals and broken glass.

“Wait here,” said the witch, her hooked nails tapping against an assortment of vials and bottles. She wrapped her hand around the neck of a bottle, filled with glistening red liquid. The bones in her shoulders cracked as she raised the bottle to her lips, guzzling every last drop.

The witch gasped for air, turning quickly on her heels and smashing the bottle against the stone basin. She crushed the remaining pieces in her palm, blood and dusted glass mixing into the pool of water as she spoke. “Wake up, my sisters. There is enough energy for all of us. _No! It is our time to rest! Release us!_ Sisters, we have been tasked with reading a fortune, and not just any fortune. Witness him now.”

Her head snapped up without warning, and Ganondorf found himself looking into very different eyes, one bloodshot white, the other baby blue. _“It is the demon king!”_ One of the eyes reverted back to an empty black. “Yes, my sisters. Now you understand.”

The witch or some other spirit trapped inside her body lifted her wounded hand, licking away the blood. He could already see crusted scabs forming on her palm, which soon fell away as the red potion coursed through her veins. She dipped a bony finger into the basin, slowly trailing it through the water.

“If my lord would be so kind.”

Ganondorf reached to his side and drew out a dagger. After removing his leather glove with his teeth, he dragged the cold steel across his naked palm, letting the blood drip into the basin. He watched as it drifted to the bottom and mingled with the witch blood, coloring the crystals and glass in a dark crimson. The stone basin groaned with power, and soon there were visions dancing within the gems and broken shards.

The witch shivered with pain and pleasure. “Yes. So much life. So much potent magic. We can see the young lord, standing on a mountain... long, red hair flowing in the wind... warm umber skin pulsing with muscle. _Succulent and delicious! Good enough to eat!_ Oh, how handsome you once were, my lord Ganondorf. Too bad the years have not been kind to us. Who knows what fun we might have had?”

She ran her thin fingers through strands of oily, black hair. Her tongue dragged across her lips in a way that disgusted him, causing Ganondorf to growl with impatience. “Enough. Get on with your visions, you old vaba.”

The many voices of the witch cackled with glee. “Determined not to have any fun, we see,” she said, slipping her hand into the water and pinching a piece of glass between her nails. “Hm, it must be the singular focus of a warrior that you possess, forged within you by these two women. _Spears in hand! Warriors marching into battle!_ We see them now, the stern captain of the guards and her lover, the thief with the golden eyes.”

“Your visions are useless to me, witch. I do not pay you to show me those who are buried in the past.”

“Past and future are forever linked, my lord. You know this to be true. They are like lovers, their union giving birth to the realities and ambitions of our present day. A grand fortune requires a vision of the past. Ah, what have we here?”

A kaleidoscope of color moved through the crystals, the gathered pieces forming a single vision. The sharp angles of a woman’s face took shape, her terra-cotta skin smooth and alluring. Her red hair was pulled up in striking curves, its beauty exceeded only by her magnetic green eyes.

The witch smiled when she sensed the tension in Ganondorf. “It appears you have not buried all emotions in the past, great king. Who was this woman? Oh my, now we understand...”

Heat rushed through his body as Ganondorf watched the crystals and glass. He saw the woman open her mouth and close her eyes, the signs of pure ecstasy sweeping over her features. The vision opened up to reveal her naked body, intertwined with the muscular arms and legs of her lover. She ran her fingers and painted nails through his flowing, red hair, her entire being shivering with delight as he thrust his manhood inside her. The woman pulled him closer, her fingers running across his back as her shapely legs wrapped around his torso.

The memory of pain shot through his back as the woman dug her nails into his skin. The demon king ground his teeth together as the woman transformed, tendrils of fire and ice licking her scalp and devouring all strands of her beautiful red hair. Tears of blood ran down the woman’s face, oozing down her neck, her arms, precious droplets dripping off her fingers into the sand below. He reached into his cloak, gripping the hilt of his scimitar as the woman’s face twisted into a leering grin, an evil smile that matched the expression of the crooked old crone.

“Look, my sisters. Behold their glory. _Witches of the desert. Ancient legends alive and well!_ Behold the true mothers of our lord Ganondorf!”

“ENOUGH!”

His roaring voice shook the very foundations of the shop, sending a ripple through the basin and erasing the visions within. The witch stared at him across the pool of water, her black eyes muted and serious.

“A grand fortune comes at a price, my lord.”

Ganondorf took a deep breath. He loosened his grip around the hilt, but the tension remained. It would always remain. “Proceed.”

She lowered her finger into the water. The stone basin hummed. The crystals and broken glass vibrated. Expectation quivered in the air.

“Blood and words will give power to our visions. Speak, my lord. Tell us of your home. Tell us of the lands where you first drew breath.”

He looked down into the water, allowing himself to see mountains and valleys in the undulating lines of blood. The memories took on a new life as he spoke. “My country lay within a vast desert. When the sun rose into the sky, a burning wind punished my lands, searing the world. And when the moon climbed into the dark of night, a frigid gale pierced our homes. No matter when it came, the wind carried the same thing... Death.”

The water churned. Crystals shattered. Shards of glass disintegrated, swirling through the basin in a storm of sand and water. Bubbles of heat rose to the surface, but the witch only smiled as her finger burned.

“Yes. We see a warrior who would be king, holding his bloody trident over the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I wanted to let everyone know that I plan to update this story throughout March and April, but updates will take longer than they did for my previous Zelda story, "No Longer Alone." I'm trying to balance a few additional work responsibilities and focus on my personal life, as well. However, this story has been outlined and I look forward to sharing new chapters with you in the near future!


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